


that you just might

by troubledpancakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Roommates, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/pseuds/troubledpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>You can’t live with Bellamy Blake. You’re either going to fuck, or you’ll kill each other before you get the chance. Are you ready for that kind of responsibility?</i>
</p><p>Clarke had laughed at Raven, told her she was insane, and yet… here they were.</p><p>- - -</p><p>“How’ve you been?” Clarke laughs at his attempt to make small talk.</p><p>“We live together, Bellamy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	that you just might

**Author's Note:**

> The first half of this is a previously unposted (to ao3) drabble based on a kiss prompt. The second half of this is my Secret Santa Gift for Sara, poedamehron. So, sorry you'll probably be able to figure out who I am and ruin the surprise, but Happy Holidays anyhow!
> 
> She wanted fluff. She got it. 
> 
> (Also, sorry, I had a really had time figuring out what to write, so I went with a cop-out and continuing something else I had already written!)

“Clarke, you’ve got mail!”

Clarke peers over her shoulder and sees Bellamy standing behind the couch, shuffling through a stack of letters. She catches sight of the thick white envelope and nearly falls over the back of the couch as she scrambles towards him, snatching it from his hands.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, and Bellamy looks at her in confusion. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” Clarke is ripping open the packet and pulling out its contents. 

Her eyes scan the paper resting on the top of the stack. “Dear Miss Griffin,” she speed reads the first few words. “–we are pleasure to welcome you to  _Harvard School of Medicine_ Class of 2018!”

Bellamy is beaming at her by the time she finishes scanning the paper, her body radiating excitement. “Oh my god!” Clarke thrusts her hands into the air in a victorious stance.

“Clarke, that’s incredible! I knew you could do it!”

Clarke bites her lip, smiling and throws her arms around his neck, pushing up on her toes. His hands splay across her back warmly, lifting her up slightly and spinning her. Throwing her head back in laughter, Clarke's lips part and Bellamy eyes drop to her mouth. Without warning, her kisses her soundly.

She freezes, dropping her feet to the ground steadily, but doesn’t move away. Her hands slide down his chest slowly and Bellamy clenches his fists as his sides, cursing himself for crossing a line.

“Do that again,” Clarke whispers, her lips just a breath away from his. 

The air between them is hot and damp, and her eyes are trained on Bellamy’s lips. A second later, Bellamy slides his hands into her hair, guiding her mouth back to his.

Clarke’s breath hitches as their lips press against each other, basking in the fullness of his as they move slowly. Bellamy opens his mouth slightly, tongue slipping out and sliding across the seam of her lips. She returns the sentiment, grappling with his t-shirt and pushing up on her toes.

He tilts his head slightly, drawing her in to deepen the kiss, their tongues moving against each other wetly. His five o’clock shadow scrapes against her chin and he tangles his fingers tightly in her curls.

They break apart a moment later, red, swollen lips and dark eyes.

“I-uh,” Bellamy croaks, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead against hers. Clarke rocks back on her heels, arching her body into his as he hovers over her. 

“Yeah- me too,” she breathes. 

He opens his eyes slowly. They are still standing in their living room, where they’ve been dancing around each other for the last nine months.

_You can’t live with Bellamy Blake. You’re either going to fuck, or you’ll kill each other before you get the chance. Are you ready for that kind of responsibility?_

Clarke had laughed at Raven, told her she was insane, and yet… here they were.

It was impossibly more intimate and scary than she’d ever thought it would be.

“I’m not– can we just,” she sighs. “Can we take this slow?”

Bellamy smiles, and Clarke thinks he might be blushing.

“You know where I live.” 

Clarke laughs softly.

They sit and cuddle on the couch until it’s late and Clarkes eyes start to droop. 

Bellamy nudges her with his shoulder. “Hey.”

Clarke opens her eyes sleepily, stretching out on couch, kicking the blanket to the floor. She smiles up at him, and he brushes a strand of hair from her face. “You should go to bed, I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

She hums in agreement and Bellamy helps pull her up from the couch. 

Their rooms are on opposite ends of the apartment, so they linger awkwardly in the middle of the room for a minute.

“Um,” Clarke starts. Bellamy shuffles his feet, staring at the ground. She surges up and captures his mouth hesitantly, breaking away almost too quickly. 

Bellamy wraps his arms around her and she lets out a happy sigh into his shoulder. “Good-night, Bellamy,” her voice muffled by his sweater.

“Good-night, Clarke,” he says, kissing her hair.

* * *

Two weeks after they kiss, they find themselves at Octavia’s wedding. They knew it was coming. It had been on the calendar for the last six months. But they still hadn’t quite figured out what was going on between them. 

The ceremony is beautiful. Octavia’s wearing a beautiful, fitted gown and her hair looks like it was braided by wood nymphs. Bellamy stands beside Lincoln, proud and pretending like he isn’t trying his hardest not to cry. Clarke is on the other side, in a line of girls in pale blue dresses and her hair twisted in an uncomfortable up-do. 

The reception is warm and bubbly, people drinking their fair shares of champagne and snacking on little sandwiches. Clarke spots Octavia in the middle of the dance floor, Lincoln is spinning her around slowly, eyes locked on hers like she’s the only one in the room. 

“Still think I have time to sabotage the wedding?”

Clarke jumps slightly, Bellamy startling her as he appears at her side. He notices and deflates apologetically. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Tipping her chin up, she offers him a warm smile. “It’s okay, just watching them together. They look really happy.” 

Bellamy’s eyes drift back over to the newly married couple, and Clarke studies him. They had moved in together about the time Octavia had moved in with Lincoln, shortly before they got engaged. That was  _mostly_  the reason they ended up moving in together. Octavia was moving out of her and Bellamy’s apartment, and Clarke’s lease was up at just about the same time. Just made sense.

Bellamy twitches nervously beside her as the song changes. Clarke nibbles on her lip nervously. 

“Care to dance?” he finally asks.

Clarke flushes. “Sure.”

He drops his hand to the small of her back, leading her out onto the dance floor. They are awkward and stiff at first, Bellamy keeping a safe distance between them.

Clarke feels a million eyes on them.  _This is stupid,_ she thinks.  _We’ve cuddled on the couch a million times, he’s seen me in my bra for Pete’s sake._

She steps closer, carding her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He breathes out a small, warm breath between them. 

“How’ve you been?” Clarke laughs at his attempt to make small talk.

“We live together, Bellamy.”

He blushes. “I know, but you’ve been working nights at the clinic and I’ve barely seen you!” 

There’s a second of silence.

“I miss you.”

Clarke slows, looking up at him hesitantly. “I know we haven’t talked about what happened.”

Bellamy licks his lip. “I know you wanted to take it slow. I’m trying to respect that--”

“I’m in love with you.”

Bellamy freezes. 

Clarke takes a deep breath. “I’ve been too afraid to admit it. To myself, even.” She is acutely aware that they’ve stopped dancing, and that there are people staring at them. Bellamy is dumbfounded. 

He is literally speechless. The man has three degrees and literally cannot find the words to respond.

“O... kay,” Clarke hums. She turns and leaves the dance floor, not stopping until she’s outside. She plops down on the steps and fumbles with the pins in her hair in frustration. 

A minute later, Bellamy sits down beside her. 

“You’re in love with me.”

Clarke’s hands still. “Can you help me?” She gestures to the up-do.

Bellamy’s hands work nimbly through the mess of twists and pins, until the rest of Clarke’s hair falls around her shoulders. Clarke ruffles her hair, massaging her sore scalp. 

Finally, she takes a deep breath and turns to face him. “I am.”

Bellamy looks at her.

“In love with you, I mean.”

Bellamy’s lips twitch into a smile, and Clarke watches him. A second later he starts laughing. 

Clarke frowns at this. “What?!”

Bellamy stops laughing. “Two weeks ago,  _you_  said you wanted to take it slow. And now, you tell me you love me?”

With a huff, Clarke slides her hands over the fabric of her dress. Realizing her distress Bellamy reaches out and covers her shaky hands with his own. “Clarke, I’m in love with you, too. I’ve  _been_  in love with you. I just didn’t want to spook you, it’s only been a year since Lexa and we  _live_  together and god, I didn’t want to mess up what we had.”

Clarke sighs. 

Bellamy takes this as a sign to continue. “You infuriate me, because half the time I can’t read you. But the other half of the time, I feel like you’re in my head. Like, how do I know that you’re one of the only people in the world that eats ketchup with peaches, and that you take two sugars, one cream with your coffee. Why do I think about that day you came over, back when O and I still lived together, and O wasn’t there but you stayed and watched Ken Burns documentaries with me while I graded papers. I think about it  _all the time_.”

“Probably because I burned the macaroni and cheese I tried to make us for dinner.”

“I’m still trying to get that pot clean.” Bellamy laughs.

Clarke smiles. “This doesn’t have to be some big dramatic thing, does it.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Nah, you love me. I love you. It can be just that simple.”

Clarke blushes at that. 

“Why are you blushing!”

“I don’t want to get used to you saying that.  _I love you.”_

“Well, I hope you never do. Because I’m going to be saying it for a long time.”

Bellamy reaches over and slides his hand into her hair, pulling her face towards him and kissing her. It’s not like the kisses before, it’s happy and light, and they end up in a fit of laughter because  _god_  how dumb and cheesy were they.

They go back into the reception hand in hand and Octavia has a shit-eating grin plastered to her face, Lincoln’s arm draped over her shoulders.

“Now there’s something I thought I’d never see.”


End file.
